Nothing Better
by Synonym
Summary: AU. Gokudera crosses continents to find his One True Love. Gokudera x Tsuna.


Warnings for **heavy crack**,** character butchering**, and **language**. Everyone has a right to flame.

* * *

**Nothing Better**

* * *

"Gone," Shamal said. He gestured to the empty clinic bed, apathetic. The sheets had been washed, were folded neatly, awaiting a new patient. The only remnants of the one prior were the roses that sat on the bedside table, now dead in the trash-can. At the mere sight a long, choking sob broke from Gokudera's throat, and the weight of the loss dragged him down to the floorboards, into the fetal position.

After a hysterical crying fit, Shamal wearily explained to him that Sawada Tsunayoshi was simply _discharged_ from the hospital earlier that morning.

Gokudera, practically a connoisseur in the art of stalking, appeared later that afternoon at the Sawada residence.

"Gone," Nana Sawada said, with two babies in her arms both speaking in languages very not Japanese. Gokudera glanced at her to them like at any moment he was expecting her to explain just why she had the offspring of what must be four other people cradled in her arms. Or at least shed some light on why one kid was dressed like a cow. Instead, she told him her son Tsuna went to Italy.

"Are you a friend from college?" she asked politely, almost placating after her first answer sent him into a fit of violent hyper-ventilation.

Gokudera thought about this for a moment, and decided that his real answer, much less conventional and lacking any resemblance of the standard sanity levels, probably would not work to his advantage. So instead of, 'I'm your future son-in-law', he said, "Something like that." When he really totally _wasn't_.

* * *

One of the many dilemmas in Gokudera Hayato's life was that he had a tendency to break things. Break being a classier and less truthful way of saying that he blew shit up, constantly. He always managed to step into the most flammable of spots, be irritated by the most irritating people of the entire human race and perhaps use a cigarette for non-socially accepted actions. Perhaps dynamite, perhaps hand-grenades, but he didn't like to nitpick. It was always something that looked like it could be on television, with a warning banner at the bottom saying in block capitals, 'FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME.' But it always seemed more creative and batshit-insane than television normally proved to be, too.

So a ticket to Italy had been rather a pipe-dream in his current financial dilemma. (He was still being hounded to pay for a local bar's rebuilding after having a drunkard come on to him and responding in a manner the authorities dubbed extremely prohibited.)

Another problem was having a long, gruelling acquaintanceship with a number of the village idiots, one being the local sushi owner. Yamamoto played agony aunt to many of the restaurant's visitors, but never once had he thought Gokudera would become one of them.

"Italy, huh?" was the best thing he could think of. Mostly because he couldn't really condone every illicit action Gokudera was involved in, or initiator of.

Gokudera gave a heartfelt groan. Yamamoto laughed in good-nature, patting his back with learned hospitality. "Did she say when he'd be home?"

"She didn't know," Gokudera mumbled, voice muffled by his folded arms. He buried his head deeper.

Then, suddenly, his head shot up. "Yamamoto."

"Hmm…?"

"You have money. Remember when I tutored you for your physics exams?"

And the problems worked themselves out.

* * *

Flights to Italy were expensive, it turned out. Gokudera failed to be bothered by it, although Yamamoto now had to refrain from giving him drinks on the house, but was still guiltily passing him glasses under the table when his father was out of sight - a clear sign of idiocy.

It was sitting there, in the boarding room of a non-refundable and not-well-thought-out flight that he realised he still had no idea where Tsuna was.

* * *

But he did know Italy. Something about his homeland being Tsuna's choice resort sent his heart soaring, like fate, an entity that previously stole away every one of his heart's desires and shit all over them, was paying him back as a gradual, wonderful balance. He stepped into the streets of Rome with a newly born flourish, and squarely into Europe's Most Unlovable Nursery Teacher, not to mention Gokudera Hayato's Craftiest Ex. Crafty meaning, whenever discussion about the fact he had inserted himself straight into Gokudera's life, with no consent or prior knowledge, he would coolly disrupt any conversation by surreptitiously jamming a hand down Gokudera's pants. And when discussion about the fact Gokudera found life unlivable with his perpetual presence - or looming dates and frighteningly abrupt appearances in the middle of nowhere, a place Gokudera had continuously used in attempt to escape all things sociopath - the crazy asshole would simply say, "It's either living together, or marriage," with more than a hint of danger.

Now, Mukuro looked down at him, smiling his shit-eating smile, and sweetly saying, "Hayato," and Gokudera considered dropping his suitcase and making a beeline back to the airport.

Fate fucking sucked.

* * *

Mukuro was the reason Gokudera had ran off to Japan in the first place. At first, they had gotten along so strangely well, a rare occurrence for either. Gokudera had been positively elated until after a Church related incident, Mukuro had been hospitalized due to massive burns - from the Holy Water. It didn't take a detective to comprehend that Rokudo Mukuro was the anti-christ, and that him teaching the future generations really wasn't so cute anymore. Gokudera promptly lost his shit, tried - so hard - to avoid any interaction or view of the nursery teacher for a year. After a committed and undoubtedly onesided year together, he decided there was only one solution. His sister assured him it was very illegal, and then slipped tickets to Japan into his front pocket - a more reasonable solution than driving a stake through his boyfriends heart - almost seeming like a bearable relation. Until she said, "You owe me. You owe me big." And she'd patted his chest and sent him on his way.

Words simply couldn't amount how wonderful freedom had been. Japan had been his paradise, just as secluded alleyways had been Mukuro's.

"No," was the first thing Gokudera said to him.

Mukuro blinked innocently. "I hadn't even asked a question."

"No."

"Haya-"

"_No._"

Mukuro flashed a smile, and put a firm hand on Gokudera's shoulders. He tensed instantly, head snapping up to produce the expression of one facing a grievous wrong-doer. "Relax," he insisted, with his don't-you-hear-my-soothing-tone voice, in all it's ungodly glory. "I'm not interested."

Gokudera promptly choked on his spit. Mukuro, the liar of all conniving bastard liars, had once again, done the completely thinkable and formed an ass for a mouth, then proceeded to talk shit out of it. Rage built up in him like air in his lungs, and he curled a fist. "Then would you please, for the love of any existing god in the sky, not talk to me ever?" Although his Italian was spacey and unpracticed, he believed he'd gotten the point across and showed this by plainly flipping him the bird and walking around him, hoping the squeaky wheel on the bottom of his suitcase wouldn't act as a trail of breadcrumbs to his hotel.

"Who are you looking for?" Mukuro called to him, in resigned monotony.

And Gokudera stopped in his tracks.

* * *

Explaining the situation proved just as difficult as Gokudera had first thought, if not more so. Mukuro's apparent amusement and blatant patronization had him in fits of fury he had to remedy with a sip of Mukuro's own blend of smoothie (that he had triple checked contained nothing but fruit. And then once again, for good measure).

The fact was, people simply didn't believe in love at first sight anymore. Gokudera had some romantic stroke of foolishness that he was living, breathing proof of it; hell, he'd traveled across continents for this kid. Others would blame it on his years of being a lone wolf catching up to him, morphing him into a desperate, one-last-chance risk-taker, who would take every leap to avoid the remainder of his life as a spinster bitch who hated everything and everyone except from his house of cats. Mukuro said, belatedly, "Tsunayoshi Sawada?" in some ridiculously accented voice. Gokudera rolled his eyes and nodded. It simply wasn't possible to block out Gokudera's oath's of love to one random hospital patient with the most beautiful eyes, nose, mouth, teeth, thumbs - Mukuro simply enjoyed being difficult.

"Weren't you fucking listening?" Gokudera snarled at him around his straw.

Mukuro blinked at him, then erupted in the creepiest sound ever - a motherfucking giggle. "As in Tsuna, the mafia don?" An amused smirk played at his mouth.

The wheels in Gokudera's head began turning, before promptly combusting into piles of flaming shit. The notion of Tsuna, sweet, chaste Tsuna, being involved in the same sentence as 'mafia don' plainly would not correspond properly from his ears to his mind. A headache threatened him at his efforts, and he was verging on surrendering the attempt, until the image of said sweet, chaste boy in a black slim-fit suit wearing an intense don't-fuck-with-me face took control of his brain absolutely. He blushed brightly, mouth hanging open, letting out a loud squeak. It unfortunately didn't go unnoticed.

Mukuro very nearly pissed his pants.

* * *

"What's that, on your hand?"

"Hmm? Oh. That's my engagement ring."

Gokudera was swiftly kicked out after emptying his stomach mercilessly all over Mukuro's shiny new countertop.

* * *

In this particular area of interest, there were really only two people he could turn to for information. One being his sister, Bianchi, who frequently dated infamous Mafioso, but was also a massive dick who Gokudera would only ever converse with if he had the help of a ten-foot spear to keep her at bay. He never called her; she left him messages all the goddamn time. He also was in a fix that the sight of her sent him into fits of nausea and blowing projectile chunks at ill-fated pedestrians. He kept all this in mind, and ruled her out completely, turning a sickly shade of green.

Which left Cousin Dino. So Bianchi ironically became the more appealing choice.

* * *

Cousin Dino was the gangly moron who he once left alone in his room for a moment as a child, and returned to a shitting bombsite. Cops were chalking the outline of a body on his expensively carpeted floor. Firemen were extinguishing the flickering flames on his curtains. The maid was tugging off his bloodied bedsheets, looking somber. His step-mother was throwing him a glare that meant he was royally fucked while she handed two crying kids he'd never seen in his life hot chocolate. And Dino stood in the centre of it all, scratching his head and grinning like the worst mentally defected human being on the planet. "I swear," the boy had told him, looking close to tears, "I swear, I didn't do a thing."

Gokudera had replied, rather calmly, "You fucking liar."

He supposed the blame couldn't really, fully fall only on Dino, looking back. It was a fact that 97% of the shittiest events imaginable bestowed themself upon Cousin Dino alone. It wasn't that he'd intentionally fuck something up until it became nothing but a painful memory. He just had god-awful luck and would most likely die the healthiest and most unsuspecting person in history. It could also be thanks to his never-ending stupidity that his life, for lack of a better term, sucked rabies infected monkey balls. But Gokudera didn't like to nit-pick.

He did, however, throw up all over his hands again when he realised the lesser of two evils.

* * *

Bianchi didn't answer her door. Not even when Gokudera threatened to blow it to hell. Not even when he said, furiously, "I can see you painting your fucking nails through the fucking peephole, sis." Not even when he lied, and told her that he was home for good, and wanted to patch things up between them. He betted it was because she could visibly see the corporeal forms of sarcasm and B.S. squatting their asses next to her ears and saying, "Do you mind if we dump right here?"

"It's..." he said haltingly. He flinched at himself, and stared, entranced at the door knob. "It's about love," he gritted out, and he inwardly punched himself for how pathetic it sounded.

The door opened immediately.

* * *

He told her everything. She hardly batted an eyelash through her goggles at the whole weird as fuck tale.

"You're not even surprised I'm gay?" he asked her incredulously after a moment.

Bianchi very nearly pissed her pants.

* * *

Tsuna, as it turned out, was not a mafia don. Apparently, Bianchi heard from her on-and-off-again boyfriend Romeo that he was earnestly trying to find loopholes in the system to return to normal life, and out of the mob's grip. The situation was making him heavily depressed, and -

and he was reportedly in hiding with tickets for a flight abroad.

Needless to say, it was the first time Bianchi could remember that her brother had weeped into her lap. Awkwardly, she patted him on his head. "Um. There, there, Hayato," she said stiffly. "Don't worry. True love conquers all."

Gokudera roughly wiped his eyes. "Then why do you have," he hiccupped, "four fucking billion ex-boyfriends?"

"Because Reborn isn't legal yet," she stated casually, hands softly sifting his hair. He froze, before quickly deciding on never ever pressing on that matter again, his stomach lurching hazardously. "But I knew," she went on anyway, "From the moment I saw him, I knew. It must run in the family - just like our father and your moth-"

And Gokudera ran the fuck out of there.

* * *

On the way to Dino's he refused to stop on the motorway to resume his sobbing. So he parked into where Dino once told him he worked, and let the tears flow there, as a respectable man would do.

Cousin Dino worked part-time where he truly belonged - the circus. Ironically - _sadly _- as a lion-tamer.

"Cousin Hayato!" he called happily when he caught sight of Gokudera's hunched, morose figure. He bounded towards him, momentarily stumbling on a miniscule pebble and crashing face first into Gokudera's shoes. The younger man haughtily yanked him up to his feet, a sneer plastered to his face. His head whipped around embarrassedly, and the glower on his face vented volatile loathing. "Sorry, sorry," Dino murmured, rubbing his forehead shyly. He embraced Gokudera tightly, oblivious to the way the others arms remained pinned to his sides. The whole European cheek-kissing thing still sent Gokudera into fits of embarassment, and afterwards he made a rule of keeping one foot of distance between them, his face luminous. "How have you been?"

"Um," Gokudera said, suddenly remembering his gauche mannerisms with a faint flush. He fumbled with the buckle on his jeans. "Fine. Okay." He paused, seeing the bright sincerity and kindness in Dino's gaze. He bit on his bottom lip lightly. "Sort of shit," he decided. "I could..." He clenched his teeth together. "Really use your help," he bit out, the words poisoning down his throat and tying taughtly around his gut. With a sympathetic gaze, Dino put a firm hand on his shoulder and said, "What's wrong?"

* * *

France. Tsuna was going to France the next morning, and Dino, he determined generously, could actually store knowledge in the hollow space between his ears. Gokudera almost praised his gifted tact at freeloading when the man wordlessly handed him a wad of cash at his sad and helpless expression.

And Dino told him, with a deeply considering and well-wishing expression, that Tsuna loved comic's. Tsuna couldn't work under pressure, but independence was another story. Tsuna was very tender, careful, and he cared more about everyone else in his life than he did for himself.

Gokudera said, solemnly, staring him straight in the eye seeming almost offended, "I already knew all of that." And he snatched the money out of Cousin Dino's hands and set off, again.

He blamed excitement for the fact that he had not watched his feet, and had moved entirely absentmindedly.

And walked right into the fucking lion's cage.

* * *

"Don't panic," Dino had instructed him weakly. His audible gulp did nothing for Gokudera's drained confidence.

Needless to say, he panicked.

"You like cats, right? Think like that. Just kittens, yeah?"

Gokudera so very much wanted to say, kitten's don't have paws bigger than my goddamn head. Kitten's certainly don't have the teeth all the better to eat you with. They do not send you low, long grumbles that reverberate and vibrate the ground beneath you feet so that astray stones fly up and smack you right on the shin. And although on one occasion Uri may have threw him a look of disgust, it was safe to say Gokudera had no way in hell of pretending a ferocious animal in a constant state of bloodlust could be pictured as a sweet, gentle kitty.

Although they scratched the same, excruciating way.

* * *

"Wow," Dino said with a whistle. "He did not like you."

Gokudera flinched when the alcohol hit his scars. He surveyed his red, rather bloody face in the mirror, with no positive comments to be found even in the smallest recesses of his mind. "Just fuck off, Dino. Just fuck right off."

And while they sat their in uncomfortable silence, the one person in the universe Gokudera loathed entirely more strode up to them, brazenly shooting Gokudera his mandatory shit-eating smile. Gokudera wanted so badly at that moment for his heart to suddenly stop and serve him the peace and tranquility he'd always dreamed of. But instead, Dino leaned over, and tugged a stone out of the rather sensitive and gaping scratch on his shin, looking relatively innocent. He turned and caught sight of Mukuro, wearing some massive and painful grin. "_Tesoro_," he said, and Gokudera blinked, thoroughly confused.

Then his Cousin Dino and his ex-boyfriend Mukuro kissed right there in front of him. And his heart really could have stopped.

* * *

So.

Gokudera ran away to the nearest laundromat to clean the urine and blood from his trousers. With no avail, he simply wandered the streets of Turin aimlessly, passing a cathedral he may or may not have been baptized in, a restaurant that was cooking something that smelled good, but something that smelled bad too. He was losing a lot of blood. People were looking at him like a leper, making a gap appear around him that he barely noticed was there. And like a miracle, Tsuna appeared - walking out of a building, shiftily surveying the group of suited men surrounding him.

He looked straight at Gokudera, and he called out to him when he inevitably hit the pavement.

* * *

Call this the break. An explanation. A further divulge into the inner workings of Gokudera Hayato's scarcely operating mind.

He met Tsuna completely by chance when he was lending Shamal a hand in the clinic. It was pretty much all it took. Every day for two months he would bring Tsuna his breakfast, his lunch, his dinner; fluff his pillows, sort his bedsheets; anything and everything more, if the kid had had the heart to ask. He'd say, "You really don't have to," with a blush and a nervous grin, and Gokudera would vividly hear the priest saying you may soil the virgin. He'd sit and read comic's, and talk to Gokudera about some baby that never left him alone and had put him there in the first place, his growing family that made no sense and how the girl he'd liked at school had eloped with the head of the kendo club, and it had left him with nothing but bitterness and a newfound interest in experimentation, that he hadn't elaborated on, but his fiery red cheeks had left little to the imagination anyway. He'd appreciate that Gokudera never labeled him crazy for it, had been in a constant state of astonishment that, if anything, Gokudera had been interested in his life, and not freaked out over it.

One day, before he left, Tsuna had looked intensely bashful, and said quietly to him, "Thanks a lot, Gokudera-kun," then kissed him on the cheek. And Gokudera had simply known, from then on.

* * *

He awoke in the hospital Tsuna-less, no surprise. He put the staff that urged him to return to his bed into sleeper-holds, dressed himself properly, and set out, again, exhausted. He stuck out his thumb at every passing car, carelessly treading side of the busy road. A motorbike stopped for him, and hitching a ride no longer seemed like even a mildly reasonable idea. The driver slid off his helmet, revealing a head of short white hair, a faintly scarred face, and a blinding smile. "Yo," he said, "Where are you heading?"

Gokudera told him he needed to hurry to the nearest airport, and clung to him like an idiot the whole ride. The motorbike would have looked ten times cooler, he decided, if stickers of dinosaurs and kangaroos weren't totally sucking the badass-ness out of it. "What's the hurry?" the generous, though decidedly eccentric man yelled.

"Uh," Gokudera said, the speed of the drive making him have to shield his face behind the strangers helmet to construct a coherent noise. "One true love kind of thing," he explained loudly, because he had no idea how to cut it short, and wasn't worrying about sounding lame to a guy with diplodocus magnets on his tiny bumper.

"That's extreme," the stranger replied thoughtfully, voice deafening, nodding his head. "Where'd you get the scars?"

"Uh," Gokudera said, "I was attacked by a lion."

"... Fucking extreme," the stranger replied in awe. And when he dropped him off, Ryohei gave him his card for being 'awesome to the limit.'

* * *

Gokudera used most of Cousin Dino's money on the flight, careful not to linger his mind on that particular person when a shaky flight was due, and he'd been queasy enough recently. The lady at the desk eyed him strangely, and he knew he shouldn't have blamed her when he looked, funnily enough, like he'd just walk out of the circus, which he pretty much had. He still snapped at her. He grabbed his ticket and, when he got into his seat, understood that this time, he was truly, truly screwed.

* * *

He spent days of depression in Montpellier. He squinted at all the signs - his glasses forgotten in his apartment in Namimori - that ranged from clean-cut French to blurred and unfathomable squiggles, most that Gokudera couldn't fucking make sense of, even when he angled his head completely horizontal. Everyone muttered over his accent; and seeing as his own and only revision of French was a fair amount of pornography Shamal used as background noise in his office, he found this unbearably annoying after the hundredth comment, and made a point in saying so to a thug who looked at him a wrong way, and then slugged him straight in the balls. And fuck no, he didn't apologize when he realized it just was a lazy eye.

He checked his phone. Forty-five messages. When he flicked down the screen, Bianchi's name was only rarely blocked out by Dino's, his father's, Yamamoto's, or Shamal's. Also his boss. He was now aware he should have quit before fleeing the country and boycotting his job, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. If anything, the only person on the list he was currently having the dull muse on was Dino, who he was daily scanning every paper for news on, waiting on 'Italian Daredevil's Insides Buffet For Avid Satanists' to appear somewhere, along with a picture of a grieving lion, or some inexplicable crap.

His footsteps halted. Water met his skin briefly.

Then torrential rain broke down on him like the wrath of god.

He wanted nothing more than to sob right there, when he realised that's all he'd been doing lately, diving headfirst into risks and then weeping in shock and pure, oozing self-loathing when he fucked-up. So he bravely, in his sopping clothes that stuck to him like second skin, strode down the street and onto a rickety bus. Water pooled on the floor beneath his seat. The sound of heavy clashes of matter almost deafened him. His life was officially so shit, he couldn't bring himself to argue when an old woman called for him to stop smoking on a public bus. He calculated what would happen if he had though, in case simply killing it on the metal frame of the seat in front of him would also somehow bring about an apocalypse, a plague. "Goddamnit," he grumbled quietly, because he knew there was nothing helpful to say.

The bus paused under a bridge right as Gokudera thought, there really is no fucking hope, is there?

And Tsunayoshi Sawada broke through the bus' roof and onto his lap with a heavy dousing of freezing cold water the second he almost agreed.

* * *

"Um," Tsuna began, ringing his shirt over the sink. He looked at Gokudera through the mirror, who was quietly murmuring Hail Mary's in thanks, biting his bottom lip. "I bet you're wondering what happened back there, huh?"

Well, Gokudera thought at once, god finally decided to love me, that's what fucking happened. Instead of this he said, "Yeah, I guess I am." It probably wasn't so religious, probably more fucked to the heavens than created there. Tsuna shrugged on the shirt Gokudera had given him, that hung a little long past his waist - taking no notice of the sharp eyes ogling him appreciatively with all the discretion of a neon light on his belt buckle saying 'SO STIFF RIGHT NOW.' Gokudera cleared his throat. "What was it?"

Tsuna looked at him bashfully, then perched delicately on the edge of the bed, beside him. "I never told you this but," he took in a deep breath, the blood draining from his face, "I'm. I'm the heir to a Mafia family." He turned to check Gokudera's reaction, which was relatively blank because hello, that surprise was so two weeks ago. Ever the social butterfly, he challenged his acting skills by widening his eyes and making an, "oh," sound. Tsuna wasn't blind. "What, you... you knew?" He displayed his utter shock with countless more believability, which was obvious enough.

"Uh, I heard about it when I was in Italy a while ago."

Tsuna blinked at him, helpless. He let out a low groan and dropped his head in his hands. "I'm not some sort of thug, really. I don't even like being in the same room as other mafiosi -" Gokudera awkwardly shifted "- let alone _be_ one." With that, he began to whimper and bury himself into the neck of Gokudera's borrowed shirt. "I kept trying to tell them, I'm not fit for it, I can't even wrangle up seven guardians or whatever. I never fight. I just liked being no-good Tsuna." Gokudera hesitantly rested a hand on his back, watching as he winced at his own story. "I - I had to get away. I was looking around for this address Dino gave me when this guy just appeared and he said that he was the real heir to the family and just - _he shoved me of the bridge_!"

His eyes popped out his skull. His breath vacuumed up every wisp of oxygen in the room, then blew it out again almost violently. Gokudera's heart broke. He tentatively put an arm around his shoulders, and patted his back. "I think I can help," he told him quietly.

It would just cost a hefty portion of his soul, was all.

* * *

Xanxus was not at all understanding, or trusting. "Lying trash," was the only thing he remarked after Gokudera recounted Tsuna's own long and painful tale. "If you were serious, you'd have the rings with you." Gokudera recalled ashiny black box, heavy in detail, that Tsuna liked to keep in the corner furthest from him, hidden under spare pillows at all times. Xanxus barked a laugh, swung his legs lazily over the side of his chair. "Where is the kid anyway? Sending someone who isn't even in the family to bargain, the stupid shit."

A part of Gokudera was in severe, excruciating pain at this. "Excuse me?" he said through gritted teeth, and the he got thrown out ten minutes later after a violent, chaotic scuffle with the Varia leader, missing some teeth.

* * *

Tsuna frantically apologized for it, no matter how many times Gokudera told him - with a distinct whistle, due to his two lost incisors - he was fine. "He's right," Tsuna said, sounding hopeless. "I should have gone. I'm so sorry, Gokudera-kun. I'll fix it." He paled instantly. "I'll - I'll go myself, tomorrow."

This was the worst idea Gokudera had ever heard. "Why don't you go back to Italy and explain it to the Ninth instead?" he suggested, and again, Tsuna paled.

"I already did. He avoided it and then my dad showed up, and there was no way I was saying anything to embarrass my dad in front of his boss."

Gokudera hesitated.

"There are loopholes," he stated solemnly, and Tsuna turned to him with the brightest grin he'd ever seen.

* * *

That's how they ended up in the Italian Vongola base, hand-in-hand, sweating they're bodies worth in fear, convincing the Ninth they were a couple madly in love, and therefore, Tsuna could give no heir. "It wouldn't be at all fair - for either of us," Tsuna said, cheeks a flaming red. His thumb brushed lower down pale knuckles - Gokudera's face almost broke under the pressure of not bursting into joyous tears. He was almost in despair when Tsuna had to let him go to hand the Ninth boss the rings. "I just can't do this," Tsuna went on, and it's convincing tone must have fooled him, and his guardians, because suddenly Xanxus was being flown home to be properly given his title of the Tenth, and Iemitsu Sawada was happily helping them board onto a plane to Japan.

"We'll all have a family dinner soon," he assured them. He put a firm hand on Gokudera's shoulder. "Nana will be so happy."

Gokudera couldn't tell from Tsuna's embarrassed 'let's just get the hell out of here already' if he thought it had been a mistake or not.

* * *

On the flight, Tsuna was shifty and awkward. When a fair amount of the passengers were asleep, he turned to Gokudera and told him seriously, a little quietly, "I'm sorry about this whole thing. You've done so much for me, and now you're going to be forced into doing more. I just. I wish I could pay you back properly." And dirty images appeared in Gokudera's head on cue, until a warm hand hesitantly enveloped his own. Tsuna's cheeks were fiery red again. "Really. You have no idea how thankful I am for everything."

Slowly, Gokudera swallowed. "Tsuna," he said, and he found himself basking in just saying the name.

The smaller boy looked at him, thoughtful.

"I. I've liked you for a long time."

It was silent. Gokudera's whole body was stiff with the tension. Then, abruptly, Tsuna let out a great sigh and breathed, '_ohthankgod_', before he promptly passed out in exhaustion.

Gokudera barely even blinked the rest of the flight.

* * *

They ate at the airport when they arrived, fast-food that didn't sit right in Gokudera's stomach, along with the painful anxiety that was gradually taking the place of any other thought in his mind. "You know," Tsuna started, with his cup still full and food untouched, "When I was in the hospital," his eyes darted low, "I liked you a lot. Then I had to leave." Gokudera's mind went blank, so Tsuna specified sheepishly, "Romantically. I liked you a lot. You were so - "

And that was the last thing he said before he found himself choking on Gokudera's tongue.

* * *

It was an unbelievable relief to treat Tsuna as he'd always wanted; like a king. He carried all of his bags, he paid for the cab, he told him it would be fine when Tsuna was too nervous to enter his house and confront his family. He could kiss him - and he did, to prove he could, on a regular five minute basis. On their first day home, Gokudera was already being treated as family by Tsuna's mother, who may ot may not have recognized him, and the two kids who took to peeking into Tsuna's room and squealing 'EWWW' when they caught Gokudera and Tsuna violently macking on Tsuna's bed.

"So," Tsuna said cautiously at the door later, when Gokudera was leaving. He looked up at him, wide eyes hopeful, mouth bruised - from Gokudera himself. "This isn't for show?"

"No," Gokudera answered automatically. "Not even a little."

And that was the last thing he said before he found himself choking on Tsuna's tongue and being yanked back inside.

* * *

As it happens, yet another problem was encountered the following day, when Gokudera was retelling the romanticized version of his tale to get Tsuna. She was positively entranced by it, loved him for it. Then she laughed when he finished, and said, "A good story to tell your kids."

Gokudera threw up on the last syllable, then spent the rest of the day being nursed back to health by Tsuna; the problems worked themselves out this time.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Characters are Amano Akira's, title is the Postal Service. A song I thought had relevance at the start.

**Author's Note**: THIS IS CRACK. PEOPLE. PLEASE GOD, do not take a word seriously, because this is my guilty-pleasure fic, and I know, the pairing is butchered, the characters were butchered, but the amounts of fun I had writing it was ridiculous. Which is obvious since it drags on longer than all of my other fics added together. This has taken forever. I would have put posting off for a day or two if a certain awesome character hadn't returned and been like 'FUCK YES I'M AWESOME, SMACK YOU BITCHES UP.' So I had to post something. It was weird because this style is very much not my own, and obviously will not ever be.

And hell yeah I ship MukuroDino.

Also, reading this makes you **ridiculously awesome**. If I broke your OTP, do flame me, and I'll make sure to steer clear in future.


End file.
